


Vanilla Liqueur

by syn0dic



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Femslash February, Post canon, birthday breakfast, cooking fun, fun gay stuff ig, i am just very lesbian and very attached, nightmare comforting, no smut depicted but implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:34:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22671091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syn0dic/pseuds/syn0dic
Summary: It's Mercedes's birthday, and her wife Leonie is so soft on her.A short little Valentine's day special, because I am weak for these two!
Relationships: Mercedes von Martritz/Leonie Pinelli
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	Vanilla Liqueur

She was standing there again.

Mercie was in the middle of the battlefield, knuckles and palms bleeding from magical exertion, bow in hand. When she moved, it was like she was underwater, sluggish and tedious, and she looked around.

It smelled like heavy blood and sour grass and smoke, and she knew this smell. She had known it for a long time. It was the smell of war. Faces were indistinguishable, as were bodies, but what she did know was the _feeling_ that they brought out in her. She looked at them and knew their names. Ashe. Cyril. Dedue. Lysithea. Ignatz. Felix. Hilda. Claude. Leonie. Oh, Goddess, she prayed, oh Goddess. She dropped to her knees, clutching at her skirts in desperation.

“Mercie,” said a so familiar voice-- Emile. “Where were you, Mercie?”

“Emile,” she cried out in relief, standing and drawing him into an embrace. “Oh, Emile.” He returned the hug, but only for a few moments before…before he began to roil and shift under the surface, shape changing as his skin turned an ashy gray and bloody wounds of dark magic began to manifest. “Emile,” she said, swallowing hard as her crimson-stained hands tried to pull away from him, but seemed to be glued in place. “Emile!”

“Where were you, Mercie?” his voice rattled, just like his dying moments, oh Goddess, she wanted to forget clutching her little brother close as he-- his head tumbled off of his shoulders like a ball rolling off of a gorey pedestal and she couldn’t cry out, her voice was completely gone, she couldn’t let go, oh, Emile!

She closed her eyes for what felt like a second, and when they opened again-- it was the face of her stepfather, rotten and decaying, where Emile’s had been. Bright blue eyes met hers with hunger in them, his dark hair coming out in clumps, his skin was an acrid yellow-gray, and the gash at his collar was putrid. One of his arms grabbed her wrist and--

“Mercie?”

Leonie’s voice rang through her mind as she felt her wife’s gentle touch on her cheek and her eyes flashed open, and she sprung bolt upright, gasping for breath. A dream. It was a dream. It wasn’t real. Her friends were mostly alive and well. Her brother was peacefully buried. Her stepfather was dead, and could never harm her again. Her wife was here with her. She slowly eased back down, sighing shakily.

“You were screaming.” Leonie sat upright on her elbows and turned over to look at her.

“It was just a bad dream.” Mercedes mustered a reassuring smile. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Hey, you sure?” Leonie furrowed her brow and pulled the blankets back over Mercedes. “I’m always here to listen if you want to talk. Do you want me to hold you?” She didn’t always, and Mercedes was ever grateful for how understanding she was.

“That would be wonderful,” said Mercedes, and Leonie scooted closer, putting an arm over her as Mercedes tried to regulate her breathing. She was a healer. She knew the way her body played tricks on her in moments of fear. If she could calm her breathing, she could calm herself.

“It’s been worse for the last couple weeks, huh?” Leonie smoothed her hand along Mercedes’s back, comforting even through her nightshift.

“At times.” She sighed. “We’re nearing the anniversary of Enbarr.”

“So that’s what this is,” said Leonie, smoothing Mercedes’s short hair. “Would it help to talk about it?”

“It might,” she said, inhaling and exhaling. “We were at...I think it was Gronder. And everyone was dead, just laying there, and Emile…” Mercedes stopped, trying to find a way to properly articulate it. “He asked me where I was and I stood up to hold him, but once he was in my arms, he started to fall apart and then...he became my stepfather. Or rather, my stepfather’s corpse.”

“Oh, Mercie my love,” said Leonie, holding her tighter and kissing the top of her head, smoothing her silver-blond hair, her warm hands a better comfort than Mercedes expected. “You’re here now. But it must’ve been awful. Emile...was he dead too?” She furrowed her brow. She remembered that vividly. Byleth had nearly dragged poor Mercedes away from her brother’s body afterwards to bury him. It was painful to recall.

“He was. Just like I remember.” She chewed on her tongue. “It’s been almost twelve years. I want to rest.”

“Hey,” said Leonie, her voice low in her throat in a soothing hum, “give it time. You know I have bad dreams too. It’s okay for things to hurt. And when they do,” she said, rubbing her back soothingly, “I can take care of you. I want to take care of you. I’m here. Is there anything you need?”

“You helped bury Emile, didn’t you?” said Mercedes quietly. The moonlight shone in the windows, dulling the fiery glow of Leonie’s hair but making Mercedes’s a radiant silver in the low light that stole Leonie’s breath away.

“Yeah,” said Leonie, wiping a tear off Mercedes’s cheek with her thumb. “I did. Me and Byleth and Raphael.”

“Were you gentle?” Mercedes’s eyes pleaded with her, and she wanted the truth-- no dancing around it, no half-lies or reassurances. She nestled her arms around Leonie’s waist, her nightshirt thin and warm under the blankets.

“We were,” said Leonie, “as much as we could be. We gave him all the respect we could and the professor blessed it and what have you. We could go to the memorial in Enbarr, if you’d like.”

“No,” said Mercedes, leaning into Leonie’s chest, “it’s alright. I just needed to know.”

“Anything you want,” said Leonie, planting another kiss at the crown of her wife’s head. Her hair was so soft, so fine-- it smelled like sweet vanilla, like the soap Leonie had made her for the holidays as a gift. Her jaw rested against the top of Mercedes’s head as she let her wife weep the sorrows out in a trembling exorcism, holding her close and warm. Mercedes was so strong for everyone else in her life. She could be weak with Leonie. “I love you,” Leonie whispered, “I love you, I love you.”

Leonie held her for hours, and slowly, Mercedes began to relax into a sleep. The sun had already been peeking over the horizon when they’d awoken the first time, a soft blue haze on the horizon that was only just diminishing the stars, but now, it was almost bright out.

Today was special.

Today was Mercedes’s birthday. It was a shame, she thought, that the morning had been brought to such a melancholy point so early, but Leonie didn’t have the time to dwell. She had plans that she’d made in relative secrecy as a surprise for her dear wife, and she had planned on waking at the crack of dawn in the first place. Pulling away from Mercedes was going to be the hard part. She was finally asleep, her round face resting against the pillow, and her arms around Leonie. To get up now would be the worst punishment of all. She kissed the top of Mercie’s head one last time and gently, carefully moved her arms off of her, slipping out of the blankets with minimal disruption. She looked at her wife longingly. If only she could get back under the covers and forget about the special breakfast she wanted to make for her.

Yesterday, while Mercedes was hard at work at the monastery, and Leonie was supposedly out hunting, she’d started a pastry dough and left it to chill in their storage, and this morning, she would make it into a lovely egg tart. She prayed Mercedes was soundly asleep-- Leonie had a mouth on her that tended to manifest itself when she attempted kitchen work. She pulled the cloth-wrapped dough out of the dry storage and set it out on the counter, then pulled out her favorite cooking pan to make the egg custard.

She pulled the butter out, too. Using it for such cooking was a rare indulgence, and Leonie had bought it at the market in advance. This was a complicated recipe; she’d written to Ashe and Dedue for advice on the matter, and in the reply letter, Ashe had told her that he’d be praying on her behalf. Always a sure sign. She ran it along the inside of a number of tiny ceramic cups. Mercedes liked little things, and sweets. Shaping the buttery dough into little balls then pressing it into the cups, she made little shells for the filling. It was a miracle she’d made it this far.

She started water boiling on the stove and poured in… an entire cup of sugar. Oh, this was an expensive indulgence, she thought, but for Mercedes, it would be worth it. Next came cinnamon sticks, right into the water, which seemed wrong to Leonie, but who was she to correct a recipe?

While that gradually came to a boil and she meticulously stirred it, she broke two eggs into a bowl and added the vanilla liqueur that would add a more complex flavor (according to the notes included with the recipe), whisking yet another bowl of fluid. Her arms were getting tired of whisking. She snatched the cinnamon stick out of the boiling sugar solution with her bare hands, suppressing a yelp as she realized her mistake and dropped it promptly on the counter, biting her other hand. If she made a sound, she would wake her wife and ruin the surprise. “Fuck, shit, oh Goddess,” she mouthed, shaking the injured fingers. She then, careful not to bump her hand again, strained the eggs into the hot syrup, stirring furiously like a woman possessed to keep it from curdling. Finally, she added the cold milk to the pot, stirring once again for a few minutes on a lower temperature. Then, it was ready to go into the little cups, which she set onto a tray, then into the oven.

The letter had also suggested (in Dedue’s handwriting) pairing the tarts with fruit of some sort. The monastery was drowning in apricots, she thought, and apricot jam was one of Mercie’s favorite treats. She’d put some out for her. Otherwise, it was the first of the fresh cherries, which were one of Leonie’s favorites. She’d put them out too.

Leonie cleaned up her mess, not without some silent complaints about the hot water on her fresh burn, and by the time she was finished with the last pot, the tarts were almost ready to come out. It was no wonder such tiny things took a short time to cook, she thought, but it astounded her how they’d changed. Using the mitt that Mercie had made, she pulled the tart tray out and set them on the counter to cool.

Leonie threw off the apron and dove back into bed alongside Mercedes, pulling the blankets up to her chin. The sun was now up, leaving a thick haze of morning fog through the valley, and making the inside of their home all the cozier for it. She put her arm back over Mercedes, who stirred slightly, and Leonie was grateful that she was at least still asleep. She kissed the top of her head and tried to doze off. Mercedes, soft and comforting and warm, was in her arms, and was at peace, and Leonie could be content with that.

It was maybe an hour after that, that Mercedes stirred awake, stretching her arms and looking at Mercedes with her morning-violet eyes.

“My dear,” she said, kissing Leonie’s cheek and Leonie blinked back into the waking world, “you smell like...a pastry of some sort.”

“Whaaaaat?” asked Leonie, stretching the word out as she sat up, and Mercedes leaned against her. She draped her arm over her wife’s shoulder, upright in bed. “That’s ridiculous.”

“No, I think I do smell something sweet. But you’re here in bed, my dear.” Mercedes glanced up. “There’s flour on your cheek.”

“There is? Well, I ought to wash that off,” said Leonie, scrambling out of bed and hurrying to the kitchen, pulling the curtain to their bed tight behind her. She started the teapot immediately and got the tarts onto a plate, delicately scooping them out of their little ceramic cups-- only one broke, and she ate it with her fingers off of the tray happily (just to make sure, of course, that they were alright for Mercedes). Tea was made. Plate was assembled. She even lit a little candle, for the romance of it all, and then carried to the bedside table.

“Happy birthday, Mercie my love,” she said, sitting down cross legged in front of her and holding out her tea and breakfast.

“Oh, Leonie,” she gasped, “it’s egg tarts. Why, I haven’t had a treat like this in a long time.”

“I thought I should surprise you,” she said with a smile.

“I didn’t even know you could bake like this,” she said, lifting one of the delicate tarts to her lips as Leonie chomped into one with her.

“I had help from Ashe and Dedue,” she said, swallowing. “But it was a lot of work to keep a surprise.”

“They’re still warm-- oh, these are divine,” said Mercedes. She picked up another one. “Open up.”

Leonie wrinkled her nose playfully as Mercedes fed her a bite, and she chewed it thoughtfully. “Yeah, these are pretty good.”

“I wouldn’t mind you baking more often,” said Mercedes with a smile. “We might be able to together. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“Actually, yeah. That sounds really nice.” Leonie thought about that. Most of her cooking until now was merely practical. The thought of having her wife’s company or doing it for leisure had never crossed her mind, but now, she couldn’t shake such a happy thought. 

“Oh, I’ll teach you to bake the perfect cherry pie,” said Mercedes, nibbling at her last tart and setting the plate aside. “Or maybe we ought to start simple, but then, egg tarts can be quite complicated.”

“You’re telling me,” said Leonie, grinning. “Are you feeling better?”

“Much better. Especially with thanks to you, my dear.” She smiled, and Leonie leaned back into her lap, looking up at her from below lovingly. “How are those two?”

“They’re good,” said Leonie, stretching comfortably. “Something about how their daughter is doing well, and they saw Sylvain a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, isn’t that nice. I wish we would get more visitors.”

“We could invite people,” said Leonie, yawning. “I think Marianne and Hilda would be happy to come, and so would Ashe and Dedue. Maybe even Felix if I promised him a good fight.” That made Mercedes smile, that starry distant beam that made Leonie weak.

“Maybe we ought to. Wouldn’t that be nice if we could get everyone together every year? Maybe for the Establishment Day anniversary. We could throw a party and a ball-- oh, Leonie. We ought to.”

“Are you sure? It sounds like it would be a train wreck with everyone.”

“That would be the joy of it,” said Mercedes. “Quirks and all, we miss them.”

“You’re right, of course,” said Leonie, leaning up to kiss her. “Are you done with your tea?”

“Why are you asking?” said Mercedes with a mischievous smile.

“Well, it’s your birthday. You only turn thirty nine once.”

“Mhmm,” said Mercedes, noticing that Mercedes’s vivid orange hair was in her lap, on her thighs.

“I had some other gifts in mind for you,” she said, with a grin. “Of course, I’m asking--”

“And I am ever so grateful,” she said, leaning down to kiss Leonie and drawing her in deeper, glad she’d chosen to take her birthday off. “Oh, yes, my dear. Yes.”


End file.
